


We Should All Burn Together

by brokenbottleaurora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 09:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18028907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenbottleaurora/pseuds/brokenbottleaurora
Summary: Voldemort has won, and the Order has been destroyed. For four years, Neville and Hermione have led a band of survivors and organized what resistance they could. When they are given a dangerous chance to end Voldemort once and for all, will the last leaders of the Light risk it all to possibly save the world? VoldemortWinsAU. Not Canon compliant.





	We Should All Burn Together

 

 

VoldemortWins!AU in which both Harry and Ron die.

Updates will be slow going, but they'll get here eventually. Note that, depending on how the story develops (in my future mind, because I sure don't have it all planned out), the rating may go up to M, but no higher.

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** Chapter 1 **

Neville sat hunched in the wooden chair, carefully fiddling with the wireless dial but only getting static. He could hear Daphne bustling around in the tent's kitchen, trying to make something edible from the dwindling supplies. Luna was curled in her favorite tattered chair and holding a book. She pretended to read, but she, like everyone else in the camp, was trying not to show how anxiously they waited for the scouts to return.

For the millionth time in the five years since his death, Neville cursed Albus Dumbledore. Damn him for thinking that he held all the answers. Damn him for sending Harry, Hermione, and Ron on a wild goose chase. Damn him for being wrong about literally everything. Harry, Ron, and hundreds of others were dead, Voldemort was still alive, and world was in shambles, all because of one old man's arrogance and penchant for "the Greater Good".

As far as Neville was concerned, any hope for a happy ending to this war died with Harry. Voldemort's subsequent victory at Hogwarts had ended horrifically for the students and Order members. Anyone of age was immediately put to a violent, bloody death. Those still alive were forced to watch. Hermione was the only Golden Trio member who survived; Voldemort spared her, intending to make a lesson of her later. Neville still shuddered at the thought. Most of the other students were led away and given a chance to "repent" and join the Death Eaters so that they could live. Neville didn't blame the many scared children who gladly accepted that fate; they were, after all, just children. But to their credit, all of the former DA members, most of Gryffindor, a large number of Hufflepuffs, several Ravenclaws, and even a handful of Slytherins refused.

The rebels were marched to the dungeon cells that few even knew existed. None of the survivors ever spoke of what happened over the next three days, but every single person still suffered from nightmares and flashbacks four years later. The third night, as he lay bloody and ready for death, a house elf appeared in his cell and popped him away to a tent in a forest. When he woke a few days later, Luna told him that Hermione had managed to call Winky, who was still a free elf, and have her Apparate every single one of the rebelling students to safety. All those that were still alive, at least. And so they had been camped out, deep within the Forest of Dean for four long years. Their little band of rebels executed small raids and rescue missions on Death Eater camps and strongholds. It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it was better than sitting on their hands and waiting for the end.

Giving up on the wireless, Neville picked up the Sword of Gryffindor and strode out of the stifling tent. As he headed for the tree line, he clapped several people on the shoulder and doled out empty words of hope and encouragement; it was the best he could offer them these days.

Silently picking his way through the trees, he headed to their tree. Hermione would meet him there when she got back. And she  _would_  return. She had promised him before she left this morning for scouting duty.

The birch tree had become their special place to fall apart together. As the de facto leaders of the resistance, they both had to put on a brave face for everyone around them. A few days after arriving in the forest, Neville had wandered the trees, searching for some privacy in which to break down. Instead, he found Hermione sitting in a heaving ball at the base of a pale tree. Her head shot up at his approach, and she started apologizing and wiping away her tears. Wordlessly, he sat and pulled her into a hug, and they cried together. That same night, they'd begun sharing a bed as so many others in the camp did.

Leaning against the trunk, Neville idly polished the gleaming sword. When the sun was directly overhead, he heard the snapping of tiny twigs and then a short melodic whistle—their sign. He leapt to his feet as Hermione stepped into view. There were dark shadows under her eyes from her early morning departure, and her wild ponytail was full of leaves. The deep green paint on her face was completely missing in two streaks trailing from her eyes. Neville thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

When she grew close enough, Neville drew her into his strong embrace and buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her scent.

"That bad, huh?" he murmured into her mane.

Hermione sniffled. "I don't want to talk about it. Just please don't ever let them take me alive." And with that she finally began sobbing; Neville just pulled her closer as anger welled up within him. When she'd cried herself out and put on enough glamours to mostly fool the others in camp, they headed back to create a plan.

The tent they shared with Luna and Ginny served as the war room for the little band of rebels, and there were maps, both Muggle and magical, tacked to every inch of canvas wall. On the tabletop was a magnified map of a small village outside Liverpool that the Death Eaters had taken over. One by one, the scouts gave report on their assigned locations as dispassionately as they could, and Hermione adjusted the tokens marking various people and objects accordingly. According to their piecemeal information, Voldemort's forces had completely taken over and begun storing a treasure trove of food, potion supplies, and confiscated wands in a small church at the center of the village. There were also some captives in the rectory at the rear of the church, if the loud screams flowing from it were any indication.

After their debriefing, the scouts exited the tent, leaving only the war council. Hermione cleared her throat and spoke first. "I didn't want to mention it in front of anyone else because I wasn't completely sure of what I was seeing at the time and, well… I've been staking out the back of the church for a week now, and I can say with almost one hundred percent certainty that Voldemort himself is living in the church." Hermione held up a hand to halt the exclamations bubbling forth. "I know it doesn't make any sense. But I know what I saw and what I heard. They know we're coming, and they want to be ready to ambush us. I don't know if they have any plans in place yet, but if they don't, they will very soon."

"Then I say we go ahead and kill the bastards while we can!" Ginny cried. After losing every single member of her family at the Battle of Hogwarts, Ginny's sense of self-preservation was non-existent. She could always be counted on to advocate for immediate, destructive action, but her unwavering leadership in battle kept her on the council despite her impulsivity.

Luna was the only person that could make her see reason. "That's a really bad idea. If they've had time to get any kind of plan in place, everyone here will die. I don't think you want that," she said harshly. The battle and subsequent imprisonment had robbed Luna of her dreaminess. These days she lived by cold, hard logic, and only Ginny could stand the brutally rational Luna that appeared in times of stress.

Daphne Greengrass and Justin Finch-Fletchley rounded out the war council. Daphne had been a surprise defection, but her insider knowledge and battle strategies had proven invaluable for the raids. Justin, whose indomitable spirit and eternal optimism buoyed the entire camp, was almost always seen holding her hand.

"They've only been there for ten days, and we've never known where they are until they've been there at least a month," Daphne reasoned. "Given our previous timelines, they likely have plans to set traps and alter the wards pretty soon, but they're probably only plans right now. I vote to move quickly."

Justin shook his head. "I know we can do this. I just want to make sure we do this right. If Daph is correct, and she usually is, we've still got a few days before they put it all together. Why don't we scout it out a little more and verify what we think we know?"

With their input given, all four faces turned to their fearless leaders. Instead of meeting their gazes, Neville looked down at Hermione. After all they'd been through, they knew each other well enough to communicate through facial expressions, body language, and hand squeezes. After a long moment, they came to a silent agreement.

Neville dropped a kiss on Hermione's forehead and turned to face his generals. "We strike tomorrow just before midnight," he said ominously, "and they aren't going to know what hit them."


End file.
